


So What if They Laugh at Me (And You're a Ninja)?

by peanutbutterpianist



Series: Firsts Are Complicated (Should They Be?) [4]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Boys In Love, Christophe Giacometti & Victor Nikiforov Friendship, Fluff, M/M, Miscommunication, Touchy-Feely, Victor Nikiforov is Extra, Yuuri Katsuki is a Ninja, but not really, communication is important kids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-05
Updated: 2017-04-05
Packaged: 2018-10-15 01:44:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10547930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peanutbutterpianist/pseuds/peanutbutterpianist
Summary: "Maybe Yuuri was actually a ninja. Which would be fine! Cool even.Ah, Victor could see himself now, introducing the other man as Yuuri Katsuki-Nikiforov, world-record-holding champion figure skater and part-time ninja."Victor can't figure out how Yuuri keeps sneaking up on him to be affectionate.Maybe the sneaky one is actually Victor?





	

**Author's Note:**

> First Move:
> 
> Surprise! Yuuri makes the first move, sometimes, and it freaks Victor out a little. Because Yuuri is trying and Victor...well. Victor is Victor.
> 
> Poor souls.
> 
> Send some pity biscuits to Chris and Yurio and Georgi. They deserve some appreciation for putting up with Victor's Victor-ness.

            “Oh, Victor, it’s good to hear from you! How are—”

            “ _Chris_ , I need to ask you something!”

            “—you?”

            “It’s _important_ Chris!”

            “Apparently. So rude today, Victor!” Victor could practically _hear_ his friend’s eyes rolling over the phone line behind the static-filled dramatic sigh that came through the tiny speaker, and could picture him dragging a hand through his hair and posing. “What is it? _What’s the meaning of life? The value of pi to twenty digits?_ ”

            “Chris, don’t be ridiculous. I know how to use Google.” Victor grumbled under his breath, tugging on a lock of his own hair absently.

            Christophe was laughing, and it loosened the little prickles of tension that had been germinating in Victor’s stomach. “Alright, alright. I’ll be serious. What do you want to know, darling?”

            “Are Japanese known for being sneaky?”

            There was silence.

            “Chris? You there?”

            “Yeah…um, I’m sorry but, _what?_ What kind of question is that?”

            “An important one!” The Russian huffed. “Do you think Japanese people are exceptionally sneaky?”

            “Eh, I wouldn’t think any more so than anyone else…what brings that to mind?”

            “Oh, no reason!” Victor started twirling the strand of hair he’d previously been yanking. “So you don’t think Yuuri has some sort of…oh, I don’t know, some sort of ethnic or biological advantage?”

            “…Ah…no? Probably?” Chris sounded terribly confused, which was weird because this was a pretty simple matter, Victor thought.

            He hummed, stroking the tip of his chin with his free hand. “So then, any sneakiness on his part is _all him_ , right?”

            “Victor, what is this about? Do you think he’s _cheating_ on you or something? Because I _will_ kick his ass—lovely as it may be—”

            “Oh, no, Chris! No, no, no, never! _Мое драгоценное солнце никогда не предаст меня!_ ”

            “Victor, sweetheart; please stick to a language that I _actually_ _understand_ , please.”

            “Sorry, sorry.” Victor let go of his hair in favor of drumming his fingers on the bench beside himself. “I was just curious, is all! I wanted to know what you thought about the idea.”

            “Okay, Victor, but I still don’t—”

            “Oh, I’d better go; Yakov’s coming back from the bathroom.”

Christophe laughed, good-natured and sweet. It made Victor smile on his end of the phone. “Watch your back, then, you rebel!” Chris chimed.

“Mmhmm, okay! _Adieu,_ Chris!”

_Hmm._

 

            Yuuri Katsuki was _sneaky_. There was no doubt about it. Victor was absolutely _certain_.

So Chris didn’t think he had some cultural or genetic advantage—unless that genetic advantage was due to Yuuri not _actually being human after all_. Victor hadn’t considered that before; maybe Yuuri was actually some sort of mythical creature in disguise. That would explain his inhuman levels of patience, for one. And perhaps the duality of his heart-stopping, effortless grace on the ice and bumbling, stumbling nerves everywhere else.

            Or, maybe he actually _was_ from some other planet. Yuuri _could_ be a little bit odd at times—who in their right mind eats _raw_ _broccoli_ _with_ _ketchup_ , for goodness sake?

            _Hmm_ …

            But anyway, back to the matter of sneakiness:

            How did he _do_ it?

            Exhibit One: Tuesday night. Victor had plopped himself on the sofa while Yuuri showered after practice and grocery shopping. Victor had intended on checking his Instagram and replying to a few emails, but must have been more tired than he’d figured. He must have dozed right off. No big deal.

            Now Victor knew that he wasn’t _all_ that heavy of a sleeper, especially not during short naps. He took them all the time, and even the _tap-tap-scritch_ of Makkachin sashaying to the door and pawing at it to be let out would _always_ rouse him.

            So how had he woken up half an hour later to find Yuuri on the couch _with_ him, stretched out beside his body, head pillowed on Victor’s chest as he quietly browsed the web on his phone?

            When asked about it, Yuuri had merely shrugged and kept his eyes trained on the dimly glowing screen. “I got out of the shower a few minutes ago and didn’t feel like waking you. You looked comfortable.”

            Well, it wasn’t a _bad_ thing— _far from it!_ —but it was…a little _weird_ , coming from Victor’s normally shy fiancé. The only sign of the Yuuri that Victor recognized was the tiniest hint of raspberry-red on the very top of his cheeks.

            Then there was Thursday morning, when Victor was cleaning up from breakfast: a plate of sliced apples and peanut butter for Yuuri, and a bowl of almost-too-dry muesli for himself. As he worked, Yuuri had somehow appeared _out of nowhere_ like…like some kind of _ninja_ , and was up leaning against Victor’s back. And, by proxy, his _backside_.

_…What?_

Yuuri was sipping at his surely-lukewarm green tea casually. The curves of his own back somehow meshed with Victor’s like a matching puzzle piece, so the older man hadn’t even noticed the presence of his fiancé until he went to reach for a towel and Yuuri _handed it to him_ from behind.

_Oh. What?_

At then the contact hit him full-force as Yuuri’s spine rolled into the curve of Victor’s behind, shoulder blades nudging at Victor’s ribs… _what the hell?_

            It wasn’t exactly the first time Yuuri had been in that position while Victor cleaned up the kitchen, sure…

            But _seriously_. How had Victor just... _not noticed?_

Maybe Yuuri was actually a ninja.

            Which would be fine! _Cool_ even.

            Ah, Victor could see himself now, introducing the other man as _Yuuri Katsuki-Nikiforov, world-record-holding champion figure skater and part-time ninja_.

            Maybe that would explain his tendency to wear his necktie as a headband when drunk. Was that a _ninja thing?_ Victor should have known!

            Maybe they could have some sort of ninja-samurai-Kung Fu-theme for their wedding, and— _poof!—_ they’d disappear and sneak off on their own for an early honeymoon while their guests searched fruitlessly for them. It could be fun!

            _Hmm_ …

            And then there was Thursday night, just a dozen or so hours later, when Victor was taking a late bath after dinner.

            Now, Victor was always _trying_ to get Yuuri to take baths with him, like they used to in Hasetsu. Not that Yuuri always _refused_ per say; he just always asked silly things like _Is this really okay?_ and _You don’t actually mind?_. So when Victor retreated to the bathroom alone, he expected…well, he didn’t expect much of _anything_ , except maybe to see some blood in the bathwater from a few popped blisters _._ He closed his eyes, letting the almost-too-hot water seep into his overworked muscles and make his abused feet sting like _hell_ …

            Of course, he wasn’t expecting to blink his eyes open to find that Yuuri had slipped into the bath, too.

            Yuuri’s head was down, and he had a bottle of shampoo in one hand and some oatmeal body wash in the other. He was flushing a little, but that _perfect_ soft smile of his was practically making his face _glow_. When he looked up to meet Victor’s shocked, confused gaze, he murmured simply, “You looked tired earlier, and I saw how bad your feet got from practice today. I can…I can _try_ to help, a little, if you’d like? If that’s okay with you?”

            _Like that should even be a question._

            It ended up being the _perfect_ way to close out the evening. Yuuri’s gentle touch was _heavenly_ on his scalp and just what the doctor ordered for his battered feet, and for the aching, knotted muscles in his shoulders and calves and the arch of his foot. The man could probably make a living as a masseuse if he wanted, in between whatever work he did as an undercover-ninja-spy.

            It all did wonders for Victor’s heart, too; leaning back against the stiff porcelain of the tub wall with Yuuri practically in his lap…there was no room for worries, or stress, or tension, or aches and pains… _nothing_.

Admittedly, there was hardly enough room for two grown men in the bathtub _anyway_ —maybe they should get a bigger one soon. But not _too_ big. The closeness was nice.

Victor dropped his head forward onto his fiancé’s shoulder to watch everything—the blood and tears and _pain_ and _frustration_ —slip down the drain, leaving nothing but two glistening-wet bodies, knotted together, warm and pliant and _clean._ He smiled uncontrollably as he was hoisted to his feet and toweled off; he rarely saw Yuuri quite _that_ giggly while sober, so he figured he must have been making some kind of weird or otherwise dopey face.

Which was definitely fine. He liked being dried off like a two-legged post-bath Makkachin almost as much as he liked Yuuri’s giggles.

            Something _really weird_ happened during an emergency run downtown on Friday afternoon. Apparently Yurio took an unexpected call from a potential sponsor that morning who wanted to meet with him. Over dinner. _That evening_. And the boy’s best suit had reportedly been marred beyond repair recently by his cat, so it would certainly _not_ do. Of course, the three of them did the _responsible_ thing, and had darted off from practice early to resolve the issue by going shopping.

            Victor and Yuuri were waiting for Yuuri outside the dressing rooms of a menswear boutique that Victor normally would have _never_ set foot into because _of_ _course,_ all the ones he preferred were either closed, too crowded, didn’t carry a small enough size for Yurio, or made the younger Russian pull disgusted faces.

            Victor couldn’t be blamed for the boy’s poor tastes, but at least he could _try_ to keep him from making a fool of himself tonight. He mulled over a few ties on the nearest rack—about half of them were decent, at least.

            A hum caught Victor’s attention and— _what the hell?_

Not that he minded—definitely not, not one bit—but _when had Yuuri gotten so close?_

            His fiancé was pleated up ever so delicately against his side, his face pressed into his Victor’s neck, the crown of his head tucked under Victor’s chin. His breath was a soft caress across Victor’s collarbones, his chest expanding slow and even against Victor’s own and _ohmygod_. He smelled like vanilla and a hint of their lavender-scented laundry detergent and the tiniest bit of salty-sweet sweat.

He smelled like _their bed_ back at home.

            This was perhaps the best part of his day.

            Scratch that: this was _definitely_ the best part of his day.

            Victor stood frozen, but could feel himself beaming and his insides churning with a pleasant miniature tornado. “What is it, _lyubov?_ Is everything okay?”

            Yuuri hummed; his nose skimmed along Victor’s Adam’s apple, which bobbed at the sensation helplessly, and he huffed a half-chuckle. “Just felt like being with you for a minute.”

            Well, _that_ was a surprise. Not an unwelcome one, of course. But definitely a surprise.

            Victor wanted to wrap his arms around his love and say something sweet and maybe a little _flirty_. But it seemed like his brain was only running on two cylinders instead of six, and he couldn’t do much aside from hum an acknowledgement and attempt to breathe at least halfway normally around the family of fuzzy rabbits quickly taking up residence inside his ribcage.

            _Tornadoes? Rabbits?_ What the _hell_ was happening to him? Not that he minded, but his insides from his head clear down to his heart weren’t making much sense.

            Yurio looked like he was assuming _far too much_ when he came slinking out of the changing room, hair a ruffled mess; even though Yuuri had already moved away to check out a display case of patterned socks a minute beforehand, Victor’s face still felt like hot toast (he could only imagine what he must have looked like).

            “Hey! Stop staring at Katsudon like some dirty old man, you _dirty old man_ ,” he spat, shoving his hands into the pockets of the slacks he had on, which admittedly weren’t _terrible_ but were much too long on him. “You’re practically _drooling_. It’s gross.”

            Victor _tsk_ ed, trying to lasso his brain and direct it back to the task at hand, but it seemed like Yuuri was already ahead of him, adjusting Yurio’s burgundy and black striped tie with care and fixing his collar. Yurio watched his hands as they moved about with a razor-sharp gaze, but he didn’t protest.

            “I think we’re getting really close here,” Yuuri mused slowly, thoughtfully, with one hand clasping Yurio’s right shoulder and the other smoothing over his vest. Yurio raised an eyebrow but remained still and vaguely attentive. “If we can get the pants hemmed today, and maybe find a slim-cut shirt so it doesn’t bunch under the vest, I think you’ll be set. This tie looks really good with your eyes, too. What do you think, Victor?”

            Yuuri was _learning_ , he thought; either that, or he was _much_ better at dressing other people in suits than he was at picking them for himself. Victor smiled and nodded, concurring with a low hum, and let Yuuri take over while he looked for a place to sit.

            His knees still felt a little weak, after all.

            Saturday would normally be a shorter practice day, but they had hours to make up from the shenanigans Yurio had put them through the day before. With how everything was shuffled around, Victor ended up taking his lunch break before coaching Yuuri, who would be warming up on the ice at that time. He bemoaned the loss of his favorite company (his _lunch date_ , as Mila teasingly called Yuuri at least once a week), but Georgi was taking his break, too. Victor knew he hadn’t spent as much time with his _sorta-_ friend- _kinda_ -rival lately as he used to, so it wouldn’t be a _terrible_ use of his time, he figured.

            Georgi updated him on a few dates he’d gone on, including one with a rather creepy, obsessive older woman who’d posed as a thirty-year-old lawyer on some dating app he’d used for about a week. He’d sworn off online dating after she’d shown up at his favorite bar after the failed date. _Twice_.

            Victor told Georgi about Yuuri being _sneaky_.

            The other man laughed.

            Laughed.

            He _laughed_ at Victor.

            _What the hell?_

“Oh, Victor,” Georgi muttered between guffaws, brushing at the damp corners of his eyes. “Katsuki’s not being ‘sneaky’ at all— _you_ are!”

            Victor stammered, almost biting his tongue. “What on earth do you mean by _that?_ ”

            “Victor, your boyfriend—”

            “ _Fiancé_ ,” he corrected, folding his arms together in front of his chest.

            “Whatever. Katsuki is just being affectionate. You like that, right? Psh, never mind, of course you do; you’re a clingy _ребенок_ , after all.” Victor bristled; he _hated_ being called a _child_. Georgi ignored him, as per usual. “But it sounds to me like you’re not communicating much back to him.”

            Victor quirked an eyebrow at that. “What?”

            “Katsuki seems shy; he probably needs encouragement _all_ the time, right?” Victor’s arms dropped to his sides limply, and he nodded. “So, have you made much effort lately to _tell_ him you appreciate it when he initiates anything physical like that?”

            “Yuuri knows,” Victor murmured, shifting his eyes to the side. “Yuuri _always_ knows.”

            Georgi huffed and opened his lunch bag with a rough crinkle. “He can’t read your mind. No one can,” he added in his signature low grumble when Victor opened his mouth to argue.

            “But I _do_ encourage him!” His voice came out a little _whiny_ , a little _petulant_ , and he cursed himself for it.

            “Verbally?”

            “W-What?”

            Georgi sighed and rubbed at his temples, as though he were fighting a headache (as though he wasn’t the one to _give_ someone a headache, Victor mused to himself). “Do you actually _tell_ him that you like those sorts of things?”

Victor shook his head, mute.

“Then how on earth could you even _expect_ him to know what you think? How is he supposed to know how you feel about _anything?_ Victor, he’s probably on edge about the whole thing, and going to start shying away any moment. You _have_ to communicate with him! Stop hiding and calling your fiancé _deceptive,_ or whatever it was.” Georgi took a particularly aggressive bite of his sandwich, and ended up with a piece of tomato squirting out into his lap as a reward for the action.

Victor didn’t feel particularly hungry, all of a sudden. He looked down at the rolled egg— _tamogayaki,_ was that what it was called?—and the potato pancake with a ketchup smiley face arranged in the small bento box Yuuri given him. He reached for a few slices of carrot with a pair of floral-printed chopsticks, hoping they’d sit well with his stomach, at least.

What Georgi said made sense. And Yuuri _was_ shy…less so than when Victor had first arrived in Hasetsu almost a year ago, admittedly. But still…

If Georgi was right, what was _Yuuri_ feeling, every time he took initiative? Victor hadn’t said a single word of appreciation about such things _all week_. Was he second-guessing himself? Did he think he was intruding on Victor’s space or making him uncomfortable, or…

Oh.

Oh, _poor Yuuri_ ; Victor _had_ to fix this.

He took a tentative bite of the egg, knowing that if he didn’t eat anything before coaching and Yuuri found out about it, the younger man would do nothing but worry over him all afternoon like a jittery mother hen.

It was delicious, just like Mrs. Katsuki’s. _Or should that be Katsuki-obasan? Or something else? I should ask Yuuri._ Some of the bile in his stomach settled, and he could feel his expression softening.

Georgi leaned over to glance into his bento. “Did Katsuki make that for you?” he asked, curious. He didn’t wait for a response, but his face bloomed into something thoughtful and kind of _warm_ , his eyes crinkling at the corners. “That’s really sweet. Japanese people have such a knack for making cute things out of food, don’t they?”

Victor laughed at that, and remembered his conversation with Chris the other day. Had _he_ sounded that silly, then?

“Nah,” he replied after a moment, taking a bite of potato and having to hide a small squeal of delight. “Yuuri’s actually not that good at things like this; he just tries really hard. It’s fun to watch; he’s so _cute_ when he’s focused!”

Georgi laughed at him again, humming something about Victor having stars in his eyes, and it actually felt pretty good.

Victor _was_ going to wait to talk to Yuuri until they got home, but Yuuri wanted to stay late to fix some glitches in his step sequence, and since everyone else had already left…

He might as well dive right in, right?

Yuuri sat beside him on a bench in the locker room, slipping his favorite old tennis shoes back on and commenting that he should probably get new laces for them soon (or just get all new shoes, really, as far as Victor was concerned). He was wearing a small, exhausted smile, and his eyes glistened with something like _accomplishment._ Victor’s heart swelled at the sight; Yuuri seemed _comfortable,_ and Victor didn’t want to change that.

But Georgi was right; he _had_ to communicate better! It was now or never. Time to jump in the water. Headfirst. Be bold.

He took a breath. Something rattled in his chest. “Yuuri!”

Yuuri almost jumped up from the bench, startled. “E-Eh, yes, Victor? What is it?”

 _Wait, what was he going to say, again? Damn it._ “You’ve been really…eh, you’ve been really _touchy_ lately.”

Yuuri regarded him with wide doe-eyes, hands freezing on his ratty shoelaces. “Um…yeah, I-I guess so?”

Ah, _crap_. Fifteen seconds into this conversation and Yuuri was already misunderstanding things.

Or more like, Victor wasn’t communicating well.

Great. Just great.

“Which I like!” Victor blurted out. Yuuri’s eyes looked positively _huge_ from behind his glasses, and they blinked rapidly. _He’s nervous. I made him nervous. Shit._ “I like it a lot, Yuuri!” He started spitting out words as quickly as he could. “But you see, it kind of threw me off, because I thought you were being _sneaky_ about it, because I wouldn’t be paying attention or I’d be sleeping or something and all of a sudden you’d just _be there_ and it was so _surprising_ —it didn’t exactly freak me out, I promise!—so I asked Chris if he thought Japanese people were better at being sneaky like that than other people, but he thought I was being ridiculous, and then I was talking to Georgi and he said _I_ was the one being sneaky because I wasn’t _actually telling_ you I liked any of this because I thought you would just _know_ because it seems like you _always_ know what I’m feeling, somehow and—”

“ _Victor_.” A finger came up to his lips: a gossamer, feather light touch that caught his attention and made him realize that the world was starting to go a little dark and fuzzy around the edges—

Oh. He hadn’t stopped to take a breath. _Ha._

Yuuri looked at him with a knowing expression for a moment, tilting his head to the side playfully. Victor loved that look on him.

“Okay,” Yuuri said, soft, smiling a fragile sort of smile, like lace. “I think I get the idea. Sure, I think I might like a little more verbal confirmation sometimes…but that sort of thing also gets embarrassing really fast, too, you know?” He glanced down, cheeks lightly tinted pink, but he was smiling nonetheless. “You usually look pretty happy whenever I’m close to you, so…so I just figured that it was okay, and I kept going?” His voice slid up, like the hook of a question. That hook sunk into Victor’s gut and tugged. _Hard_.

“Do you like it, too, Yuuri?” Victor still felt a little breathless, and the words came out airy and hoarse.

“Mmm, I do.” Yuuri leaned into his side then, all hard shoulder and soft sweatshirt and pervasive warmth. “I like it a lot, actually, it’s just…it was really nerve wracking at first, because I thought eventually I’d go too far. That I’d push my luck, and one day I’d wake up to find that you’d had enough.” He swallowed audibly and Victor wanted to argue, but he swept on. “But we’re both still here, a month after coming to St. Petersburg, so…” He shrugged against Victor and shuffled his feet around a bit.

Victor shifted to slither an arm around Yuuri’s middle, drawing the younger man almost-flush against himself. He could have left it at that, or said something like _Oh Yuuri, of course we’re both still here, I love you so much!_ but—

But maybe there was still some truth to what Georgi said.

Maybe he needed _words_. _Real_ words.

“I definitely should have said something sooner, then.” He breathed a sigh against Yuuri’s sweat-soaked scalp. Yuuri stiffened, his thigh especially rigid against Victor’s own. “You shouldn’t have had to feel like that, _lyubov_. Ever. That’s my fault.”

“Oh Victor, no, it’s not your—”

“No, it is,” he interrupted, insistent, and Yuuri froze against him. “I can’t expect you to read my mind. Not if doing so ever leaves you feeling anything less than completely _loved._ Not if it ever leaves you doubting your place here in St. Petersburg, by my side.” He tightened his grip on Yuuri’s waist. “That’s my responsibility, isn’t it? I’m your fiancé, and I love you very much, but that doesn’t mean much unless you _know it_ , right? So don’t let me shirk my responsibilities by making excuses for me.”

Victor took a breath.

That was a lot. He felt strangely exhausted, and his tongue felt like cotton.

Yuuri suddenly chuckled, but turned his face into Victor’s t-shirt, hiding his expression, and _maybe this was a mistake after all._ Was Yuuri _laughing at him?_ Victor was starting to wonder if he was about to be mocked.

But his shirt was getting damp.

Yuuri was _crying?_

 _What?_ Did he say something wrong after all? “Y-Yuuri? What’s—”

“Thank-you,” Yuuri whispered, cutting him off. He pulled away just enough to put a broad, teary-eyed smile on display for Victor. “I don’t know what to say to that; I don’t even know how to explain what I’m feeling right now, except that I’m so happy, and I’m grateful and…” He stopped to pull off his glasses.

“And?”

Yuuri laughed, hiccupped, and brushed aside a few of his teardrops as they slid down the line of his nose. “I guess, I do feel really loved. And I really want to be close to you right now.”

Victor wondered if astronauts ever felt like he did in that moment, when they were floating above the earth somewhere in outer space, free of gravity’s pull and staring down at their entire world, astonished at its beauty.

“Oh, I can do something about that last thing,” Victor said quickly, sly because otherwise he’d probably end up either in tears himself, or running around the empty rink shouting his feelings to every inanimate object present.

He bundled his fiancé close with a long sigh, tugging him into his lap. Yuuri slid himself perfectly into the space beneath his chin, between his shoulders, within the span if his broad chest. He fit perfectly inside the circle of Victor’s arms, legs swung around to cross at the ankles at the small of Victor’s back. Victor felt himself absolutely _melting_ , losing himself, and forgetting all about the bench beneath them and the crisp chill of the rink.

But it wasn’t like he could exactly _forget_ that Yuuri was there. _Never_. It was more like…

Like he just _fit_ so well there.

Like he _belonged_ there, filling all the gaps and spaces, soft and giving against Victor’s jagged, broken edges. Victor felt his very presence somewhere deep in his chest, and less and less on his skin: not intrusive, not forceful, but present and steadying, like glue keeping all of Victor’s pieces together.

 _Oh_.

That’s what it _always_ felt like, having Yuuri close like this, wasn’t it?

So it wasn’t that Yuuri was _sneaky_ at all.

He simply _fit_ just right.

Ah.

_Aaaaaahhh._

That… _that_ somehow made sense.

But still…

“Yuuri,” he breathed against the crown of his dark head. “I need to know: are you secretly a ninja?”

His fiancé stilled, rigid. He was silent for a long moment before he whispered into Victor’s ear. “What kind of ninja would I be if I told you?” He pinched at Victor’s hip, and the Russian let out a rather undignified yelp.

“So mean, Yuuri!” He started to wriggle out of Yuuri’s grasp, but the younger man wouldn’t let him.

Yuuri twisted around to reach blindly for his glasses. “Silly Victor,” he purred, voice so _obviously_ fond that it made Victor swear he could see stars.

“So you _are_ a ninja, then?” he blurted out. “Can I hire you as my personal bodyguard?”

Yuuri laughed at him, cheeks and ears blooming scarlet and arms promptly flung around Victor’s neck.

Victor laughed too, just before a shy, quivery-lipped kiss was pressed to his cheek.

And it felt wonderful.

**Author's Note:**

> I've only been studying Russian for the past few months, so if there are issues with my Russian grammar, I apologize to native speakers!


End file.
